without Klaroline, life would be a mistake
by oceanofoswald
Summary: Ten short Klaus/Caroline stories based off of songs.


**a/n -** so, I put my iPod on shuffle and just decided to write. I really tried to stay with the lyrics but these just kind of wrote themselves. I mostly just stopped when the song finished unless I had a better ending line in mind or something. I changed music to Klaroline in the quote by Friedrich Nietzsche used for the title.

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><p><strong>1. All Fired Up, The Saturdays<strong>  
>The music pounded against her sensitive eardrums but she stayed attached to the speakers. Her hips shook and she was pretty sure she flashed at least seven people but she didn't care. It was her night. Away from everything. Witches. Vampires. Werewolves. <em>Hybrids<em>. Everything. The lights flashed various colours and arms snaked around her waist. She grinded with the muscular stranger- of course she knew he was the furthest thing from a stranger. She'd made it two hours, that must be a record. Her hand clutched at his hair as she inhaled his scent and whispered: _stop following me, Klaus._

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><p><strong>2. Hurricane Drunk, Florence + The Machine<strong>  
>She ran, and ran, and ran. It's all she knew how to do. Flee. It was human instinct. She abruptly skids to a halt as she sees him, standing at the end of the alleyway like the smug bastard he was. Of course he found her. He'd always find her- <em>get used to it, sweetheart<em>. And if she hadn't been exhausted before she certainly was now- emotionally, at least. She was a vampire after all. And didn't he just _love_ to remind her. Love- sometimes she believes he loves her. Truly. Genuinely. But then she runs again before she can find out. The place never mattered, it just had to be where he wasn't.

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><p><strong>3. The A Team, Ed Sheeran<strong>  
>Vampire. Oh god oh god oh god. Snow. Cold. Run, run, run. <em>Have you ever danced with the devil by the pale moon light?<em> And run some more. Screams echo from behind her. Always very nearly there. But, of course, not quite. _Just let me go._ She'd plead and cry and beg and cry some more. _You know I can't do that, my Angel._ She'd receive a nuzzle, maybe a stroke. Because she was his pet- or Angel, as he prefers to say. _Let me fly away, then._ But she dies before she can. In the snow. The cold, cold snow. And she reawakens in the summer heat because it was all a dream. How easily she forgets that he can do that. Reach into her mind- her soul. She just wanted to fly. He just wanted her. _It's too cold._ She'd complain and groan and whine and cry- always cry. _You don't feel._ No, she doesn't.

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><p><strong>4. Kiss Me, Ed Sheeran<strong>  
>She sniffs and he hands her the mug of hot chocolate. She makes room for him to snuggle in beside her. Sipping the warm liquid, she watches him watch her. They do that. Watch. Both too stubborn to say- <em>do<em>- what they _really want_. He inches closer. She lays her head on his shoulder and revels in the heat from the scorching hot drink. He wants her to- oh, so wants her to- be the first to say it. But she doesn't- won't- can't. She's waiting for him, you see. Because as much as she's a feminist, she wants him to love her and protect her and stand under her window with a freaking boom-box because she's just that cliché. But today is Christmas. A time for miracles. _Caroline_, he whispers. She smiles._ I know_.

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><p><strong>5. Marry You, Bruno Mars<strong>  
>The bells ring. They imagine the crowds cheer. The moon shines down over the hoards of birds. She giggles. He grins. They head into their horse drawn carriage- stopping to share a kiss first, of course. And she giggles. And he grins. It's far too dark and the things that go bump in the night are surely lurking somewhere close by. But he loves her. Like, really truly loves her. And her him, of course. Ever since forever, really<em>. I do<em>. And she had giggled._ I do_. And he had grinned. It was dumb but it was theirs and no one else's- literally, it was far too late to have a _real_ ceremony. They hope whoever owns the carriage won't be too mad- well, she thinks they should. He thinks she should kiss him again.

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><p><strong>6. Girl With One Eye, Florence + The Machine<strong>  
>It seems sad. He seems sad. His life <em>is<em> sad. A thousand years with no one to love him. Betrayed at every turn and alone at every bend. And it repeats, repeats, repeats. _There's your pretty, little girlfriend, Caroline_. Like she wasn't eavesdropping when her boyfriend talked to the big bad wolf like he was discussing football with Matt. And she's listening when he tells him to bite her- _and how very dare him_. And she's listening when he tells her about the world that's out there waiting for her. And she's definitely listening when his filthy, murderous fingers travel into places they shouldn't- listening to her own moans that is. And she listens to herself cry when Damon tells her her lover/nemesis is trapped in a coffin forever to rot. And he listens when she whispers _I miss you_ to a corpse even though she doesn't know it.

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><p><strong>7. If You See Kay, The Script<strong>  
>It's been four days since he'd seen her last. Four <em>days<em>, Rebekah likes to remind him by the hour. He paints her, nibbles on a sandwich, naps, then paints her again. Basically, she turned him into, in Kol's poetic language, a whipped pussy. He sighs and stares out the window. He tells Stefan to tell her he's perfectly unaffected by her choice- that he hasn't been skipping meals. Stefan shakes his head. _She's not going to ask about you_. He shakes his head and turns away to stare out the window. _I know_.

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><p><strong>8. Talk You Down, the Script<strong>  
>He loves how with a flick of his wrist he can jump into an entire different universe. All of which are far better than the one he's in. It doesn't always work though. First, a dazzling smile hidden between the pillars of the Colosseum. Next, glimmering blonde locks spiralling down the Eiffel Tower like a waterfall. Then, bright blue eyes watching over Mount Fuji. He sighs, showers and strolls into the kitchen toward the noise caused by the dinner party. Watches her laugh and smile and kiss- not him, never him, <em>why would it be?<em>

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><p><strong>9. Wrong in the Head, Example<strong>  
><em>Are you drunk?<em> As a skunk, she answers. Her mother tsks. Matt smiles sheepishly. She kind of remembers.

"I'll take her." To Paris, Rome, Tokyo- she knows. She's passed to Rebekah's older brother and she clumsily grips at his shirt- what is that brand? Does it make all chests feel this _good_?

"No more alcohol for you, love." And he holds her so tightly compared to Matt- most probably compared to anyone.

"Why do you care?" She slurs and her eyelids flicker. His hold tightens- if that's possible. Although if any one could find a way it's Klaus. Klaus- her rival's brother. Klaus- with the curly hair and unfairly perfect _everything_. Klaus- the loner artist that everyone avoids. Klaus- the man who whispers such sweet adventures into her ear when no one's looking.

"I'll write you a list." She distantly remembers him saying. She thinks she answered. Probably something stupid- as usual.

On Monday she doesn't really remember pulling Amy Bradley's hair. She doesn't really remember dancing on Tyler Lockwood's bonnet- and breaking it. She doesn't really remember calling Elena a slut and high-fiving Kol. She definitely doesn't remember the soft kiss placed on her head and the rough hands with small particles of paint clogged under their fingernails tucking her in.

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><p><strong>10. Without U, David Guetta ft. Usher<strong>  
>His is the hand under the umbrella. His is the hand that's holding hers during horror movies that she won't admit to being terrified of. His is the hand that writes a thousand words and paints a million pictures. <em>It's a pony<em>, she laughs. _Stallion_, he snorts. _Pony_, she sings. He begs her to continue. She blushes and looks around the loft. She recalls the times they hid away there when she was a young, naive sixteen year old with an obsession with painting a different pattern on her nails every day. They'd paint together. Her brush much smaller than his but still effective in its own way. Nothing they did was truly permanent but his were masterpieces compared to her celebration over getting the spiral just right. But he'd always smile and congratulate her- he'd always _mean_ it. They talked too- a lot actually. _I want to go_. He'd tell her. _Where? _She'd ask. _Anywhere. Just far away from here_. She knew why. _Why don't you, then?_ She'd tilt her head. He'd simply look at her. _Without you? What would be the point?_

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Amusing? Laughable? Let me know.


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